The Cross of Changes
by the rose is ice
Summary: What happens when the love of Seth Goddard's life is told that he's dead? Part 3 Available. Please R&R... I have a cool idea but if no one likes it I'm not going to worry about it. :)
1. Push the Limits

Disclaimer: I don't own Space Cases. I don't even know anyone who's ever had anything to do with it, except for a couple of emails from Paul Boretski last year. I searched the Space Cases bible, found nothing on Goddard's private life, so I thought I'd make one up. Enjoy!  
  
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Birdie Goddard rushed into her home, dropping her backpack right next to the door. "Papa? Papa, you home?" She heard no response. "Anyone?"  
  
An elderly woman, who still managed to keep most of her black hair, came into the living room, staring at Birdie with the soft, ice blue eyes, that Birdie had inherited from her. In her native Spanish accent, she said, "He's not here yet. Come into the kitchen."  
  
Birdie followed her grandmother into the kitchen. At the table, was the same snack that Emma left for her granddaughter every day: carrot sticks with ranch dressing and a glass of white cranberry juice. Birdie sat down and shoved a carrot in her mouth. "Where's Papa?"  
  
"Who taught you to speak with your mouth full?" Emma asked sternly.  
  
Birdie finished chewing, swallowed, and took a sip of her juice. "I'm sorry," she said. "Where's Papa?"  
  
"He's not home yet," Emma answered. "And it's a good thing he's not. He wouldn't be happy about where you left your backpack."  
  
Birdie jumped up and ran back into the main hall, grabbed her backpack, ran upstairs, and set it on her desk. She looked at her immaculate bedroom: no clothes on the floor, freshly dusted and vacuumed (smelling vanilla fresh, vanilla was Birdie's favorite scent), her desk was polished and straightened, and her bed was perfectly made. She usually had so much homework that she had to get up an extra half hour early just to make sure her room was clean before she left for school.   
  
She went back downstairs and sat at the table again. She smiled at her grandmother.  
  
"I trust you did not leave your backpack on the floor?" Emma asked.  
  
"Not today," Birdie said, although she wished she hadn't said that. She always got in trouble when she left her backpack on the floor. Birdie started eating again, rather quickly.  
  
Emma smiled for the first time since Birdie had gotten home. "You don't have to inhale those!" she said. "They're not going anywhere."  
  
Birdie slowed down. When she finished her carrots, she got up, and went upstairs. She had been studying for nearly two hours when–  
  
"Birdie? Emma? I'm home!" They could hear the door slam shut.  
  
"Papa's home!" Birdie threw her notebook on the floor, then ran downstairs into the living room, right into her father's arms. Emma stood in the kitchen doorway and smiled at them.  
  
"Finally!" Seth said, kissing his daughter on the forehead.  
  
"Papa, how much longer are they going to make you work at the Starcademy?"  
  
"Not for much longer," Seth said, looking his child in the eyes. "On Monday, I'll only have three weeks left working at the Starcademy. Then I'll be home for a week, but then they're sending me out again. I have to supervise a supply run. It'll only be two months. Do you want to go?"  
  
"Sweet!" Birdie said.  
  
Emma smiled. Birdie had been going on the supply runs for years, but she never tired of them.  
  
"Liam's bringing Traylor, and Carly's bringing Jesse," Seth said. Jesse Madra had been Birdie's best friend since he and his family moved to Montreal (where his mother, Caroline, was raised) from Elysium Planitia (where his father, Gregor, was born and raised) when the kids were eight years old.  
  
"Sweet," Birdie said again. "I can't wait."  
  
Seth stood up. "I'm going to go change out of this uniform," he said, unzipping his Starcademy jacket. "I really do hate this uniform." He mumbled about regulations as he went upstairs to his room.  
  
"Dinner will be ready soon," Emma told Birdie. "Go upstairs and finish your studies."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Birdie said, heading upstairs.  
  
"Emma, that was a wonderful dinner," Seth said. Emma had fixed a wonderful dinner for them, as she always had on Fridays when Seth came home from the Starcademy: roasted garlic chicken, twice-baked potatoes, steamed broccoli, and sweet rolls. Birdie nodded in agreement.  
  
"Thank you," Emma said, getting up from the table to begin clearing it.  
  
"How would you like to go out for ice cream tonight?" Seth asked Birdie.  
  
"Sweet," she said, smiling.  
  
"You coming, Emma?" Seth said, standing up and wiping his hands on his cloth napkin.  
  
"No, thanks," Emma said. "You run along."  
  
"What about the–" Birdie started, pointing at the table.  
  
"I'll clean it," Emma answered. "You two children run along."  
  
No argument, Birdie thought. She followed her father out to his car and jumped into the passenger seat.  
  
"Ahh," Seth said, as he buckled himself in. "I'm so glad to be home right now. You wouldn't believe it."  
  
"Having a rough time?" Birdie asked. Seth started the car and drove off.  
  
"There's these five students in my class," he explained, "and they're field tests are being suspended. And of course, it's going to be my job to watch them while the rest of their class is out there."  
  
"Bummer for them," Birdie said. "Bad grades? Discipline problems?"  
  
"Yes," Seth said, and Birdie giggled.  
  
Birdie started talking about school, and they chatted until they got to the ice cream parlor. They went in, and Seth ordered a waffle cone filled with Rocky Road, and Birdie ordered a hot fudge sundae. They got their treat and sat down next to the window.  
  
"Looks like we got here just in time," Seth said, watching a line form. Birdie smiled. "You know that I'm glad we got to do this."  
  
"Go out for ice cream?"  
  
"Hang out together," he said. "We definitely don't do this enough."  
  
"We hang out at home when you're home," Birdie pointed out.  
  
"It's not the same," Seth said. "I haven't been home enough since I got the Starcademy punishment." He shuddered at that thought."I'm so glad I only have three weeks left there. School's almost out for both of us. I can't believe you're going to be an eleventh-grader next semester."  
  
Birdie grinned.  
  
"My baby's growing up way too fast," he said, sighing. "I just wish your mother was here to see it."  
  
Birdie was now uncomfortable. Her mother had died when she was only five months old, and though she enjoyed hearing stories, she always felt uncomfortable when anyone talked so well about this woman that Birdie didn't even remember.  
  
"Papa, do we really have to get all mushy?"  
  
Seth laughed. "Nah," he said, smiling. "What do you want to talk about?"  
  
"I don't know," Birdie said, and Seth laughed again.  
  
They finished their treats in silence. When they were done, they headed back to the car and got in. In the process of getting in, Seth spotted something in the backseat. They both buckled up, but Seth didn't start the car.  
  
"We're not going anywhere," Birdie pointed out.  
  
Seth looked at his daughter. "Are you in a hurry to get home?"  
  
"Not really," she said. "Why?"  
  
"Let's go do something that we haven't done in a while."  
  
Birdie grinned.  
  
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"You always used to be able to make that shot," Birdie told her father.  
  
Seth, sweaty and out of breath, ran to go chase the basketball.  
  
"Why am I the one doing all the running?" he asked breathlessly when he came back.  
  
Birdie took the ball from him and started bouncing it. "You're the one doing all the missing," she said, laughing. "I guess you don't get much excersise grading homework, eh?"  
  
He shook his head.   
  
"You're still losing," she said. "We've been at this for two hours. Don't you think Grandmother is going to be upset that we didn't go straight home?"  
  
Seth looked at his daughter. "I'm your father," he said. "If I want to take you to play basketball, I can." He looked at his watch. "But you're right. I am losing."  
  
Birdie smiled at him, and they started to walk back to the car, Birdie bouncing the ball until she got to the door.  
  
When they got home, their suspicions came true: Emma was up waiting for them.  
  
"Where were you two?" she asked sternly. "And Seth, honey, why are you all sweaty and dirty?"  
  
Birdie looked at Seth. "We stopped to play some basketball," Seth said. "I got my ass kicked."  
  
"Seth!" Emma said. "Don't use that kind of language in front of the baby!"  
  
Seth put his arm around Birdie. "It's okay," he said softly. "I trust her."  
  
"Well, I don't," Emma said. "I'm going to bed." She disappeared upstairs.  
  
Birdie looked at Seth. "Why doesn't she trust me?"  
  
"It's not you, it's me," Seth said, even though he didn't know what that meant. "I'm going to take a shower. I suggest you get ready for bed." 


	2. Silence Must Be Heard

(NOTE: The first part was in the third person. This part, and the rest of the parts, except the last one, which will be back in the third person, are in the first person. Confusing, eh? This story is written from Seth's POV. And I'd like to apologize for my wonderful, terrific, lovely grasp of NOT being able to write in the same tense throughout the entire story; these apologies go to my high school English teachers, Christine Prater, Karen Kreyeski, that one guy who became counselor, and Bill Beeson . . . oh, sorry! I was writing a story . . . oh, by the way, if you see words with / / around them, it just means they should be italics. Just in case you didn't know how weird I actually am. And I'm sorry for how far about these parts were. I lost my computer access for awhile. And if you decide to review (which I'm kinda hoping you do), just keep in mind there's a point to what is going on, and I'll try to post the next part over the weekend. It will actually not be boring by the next part!  
  
CHARLES NELSON REILLY!!!!!  
  
Oh, and popcorn really is yucky!) *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*-*-* It's going to be a long weekend.  
  
I knew it from when I walked in and Emma was mad at me. The way I see it, I hadn't done anything wrong. It's perfectly fine for a father to spend time with his daughter. His only child, nonetheless. Why does he need his mother- in-law's permission? Emma had given birth to three children herself, so why was it so hard for her to grasp this? Actually, even though I often asked myself that question, I think I sort of knew the answer. Alex had talked about it even before we had gotten married.  
  
Saturday was hell. Emma cooked a great breakfast, but no one spoke through it. I was still angry at Emma and afraid of opening my mouth. Emma glared at me through her juice glass. Birdie just looked tired. Emma never let Birdie sleep in on Saturdays, which really made me angry. She always did what Emma told her: her bedroom was always immaculate, homework was done. Between schoolwork and housework, Birdie didn't have time for much else. I knew she desperately wanted to be on the softball team, which I thought would have been great for her, but Emma forbade it. Emma also wanted her to get a part-time job in some office when she turned sixteen. Sixteen year olds should not be forced to work. I told Emma that, too, and I got the bitching of a lifetime. For this reason, I couldn't stand Emma. Sure, she thought she was helping, but come on. My daughter, who had just turned sixteen on April 29th, worked way too hard as it was. She needed a break. A nice, long cigarette break. (I was just kidding about the cigarettes.) I remember when I was sixteen . . .  
  
As soon as breakfast was over, Emma began bitching again. Something about the outfit I had decided to wear that day-a pair of my favorite old blue jeans, a white tee shirt, and a blue flannel shirt. I wasn't sure what was wrong with it, except for a hole in the left knee. Who cares? It was an appropriate outfit. Emma always wore a grey skirt, with an interesting color blouse.  
  
After about an hour of that, Emma finally left. During her free time, she'd go to church and spend hours there. Another thing she often rubbed in our faces-I wasn't religious and Birdie didn't seem to be, either. (She did have the choice of going to church every weekend, and I've only seen her go twice aside from holidays.)  
  
I turned to Birdie the second Emma's car left the driveway. "What do you feel like doing?"  
  
"Sleeping," she said, smiling. I smiled back. "How long is she going to be gone?"  
  
/Looking forward to it like I am?/ I thought to myself. "I don't know."  
  
Birdie lit an incense which smelled of rain and put it down on the bar in the living room. "Don't you love this smell? I love this smell."  
  
"It's really relaxing," I agreed. I had some good times in the rain, like the night Birdie was conceived.  
  
She sat down on the couch, and put her feet up on the coffee table. I sat down next to her and looked at her. She immediately removed her feet.  
  
"You can sit like that," I told her. "I don't care." As a matter of fact, I did the same thing.  
  
She slowly put her feet back up. You see that? My child can't even be comfortable in her own home. Something had to change.  
  
I loved her socks. They were neon blue with lighting on them. They didn't match her outfit at all (dark purple slacks and a matching velvet shirt), but that made them all the better. I looked at my own socks, which were just plain white. How . . . boring.  
  
We sat there in silence until Birdie spoke up again.  
  
"You never answered me last night."  
  
I just looked at her.  
  
"Well, you did, but it didn't make any sense."  
  
"Didn't make any sense to me either," I agreed. Sighing, I said, "I don't know why she doesn't trust you, really. I mean, you do everything you're asked."  
  
"You don't ask me to do anything," Birdie said. "Just Grandmother."  
  
"I know, and it pisses me off."  
  
Birdie looked at me with her icey blue eyes.  
  
"Don't worry about my language," I told her. "If I want to curse, I'm damn well going to."  
  
"No problem," Birdie said, shrugging.  
  
"But don't you dare start," I said. "That's the one thing I agree with your grandmother on." Did I just say that? I should let her curse.  
  
"May I have some popcorn, please?" she asked me, getting up.  
  
"Go right ahead," I said, following her into the kitchen.  
  
"Do you want some?" she asked.  
  
"No, thanks." I sat down at the table.  
  
She got out a bag of popcorn and popped it in the microwave. She joined me at the table.  
  
"You can't let her get to you," I told her. "She gets to me, too."  
  
"Why can't you just throw her out?"  
  
"Birdie, she is your grandmother. Don't speak like that."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
/Not that it was a bad idea . . ./  
  
"Don't worry about it. Hey, let's go through your mother's classic movie collection and watch one."  
  
"Okay!" Birdie said. She loved those old movies, most of them made back in the 20th century. We still had one of those old VHS heads, and some people thought we were strange because of that. But we loved watching those movies.  
  
I choose Cannonball Run II, because I knew that Birdie loved that one. (Actually, she loved any movie that Charles Nelson Reilly was in.) Birdie put the popcorn in a bowl, salted it, and got out diet sodas. We made ourselves comfortable on the couch. Birdie lay there with her head in my lap.  
  
We had just gotten to the part where Burt Reynolds, Dom DeLuise, and Sammy Davis, Jr., had dressed in drag to get closer to Charles Nelson Reilly (known in the movie as Don Don, whose idea it was to kidnap the sheik), and suddenly, Birdie burst out laughing for no reason.  
  
"What is it?" I asked her.  
  
"I love this part! Look on Charles' face!"  
  
/[For those readers who are not familier with the movie . . . go rent it. It's hysterical. In this particular scene, the three men mentioned above were wearing dresses and lip syncing to- oh, just go see the movie already!]/  
  
That's when she did it.  
  
One lonely piece of popcorn went flying across the room, hitting Don Don right in the forehead.  
  
I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud and threw another piece. I completely missed the TV.  
  
"You missed!" Birdie cried out. Then she threw a piece at me, which hit me square in the forehead.  
  
But instead of yelling at her, I simply said, "You're a good aim." And I threw a piece back at her.  
  
She giggled, so I grabbed a handful and rubbed it in her face.  
  
"Yuck!" she cried out, dropping a fistful into my hair. I didn't care. It needed washing, anyway.  
  
Birdie grabbed the bowl from me.  
  
"Don't do it!" I teased.  
  
She spun around, and popcorn went flying everywhere. I tried to catch as much as I could with my mouth.  
  
Then, as suddenly as the popcorn party had started:  
  
"What are you two doing?!"  
  
Birdie and I turned at the same time. A piece of loose popcorn fell at that moment and hit Birdie in the nose, causing her to giggle again.  
  
"Look at this mess!" Emma cried out. "Birdie Elisabeth, clean this mess up now."  
  
Birdie looked at me. "Don't worry," I told her, "I'll help you."  
  
"Like hell you will!" Emma said. "I can't even leave you along for a simple hour! And the baby trashes the place!" Emma turned to her granddaughter. "You will not go with me on Monday to take your father to the shuttle."  
  
"But, Grandmother-" "Don't 'But Grandmother' me." Emma headed upstairs.  
  
Birdie looked over at me again, and I could see her out of the corner of my eye , but I didn't look back. Instead, I just quickly began to pick up popcorn kernals. The movie was still playing.  
  
About fifteen minutes or so later, I made my way upstairs. Birdie stayed downstairs to talk on the phone.  
  
"Seth?"  
  
I turned around. "Emma?"  
  
"I don't appreciate you undermining my authority in front of Birdie."  
  
I just looked at her.  
  
"I mean, really! And I know how hard you are trying to be her friend, but she does need to be disciplined-"  
  
"That's the problem!" I suddenly blurted, even surprising myself. "You over- discipline. You're too 'by the books'. I never intended to raise my baby the way she was raised, and I think you just need to back off!"  
  
Emma just stood there, her mouth hanging open. "Alejandria-"  
  
"Is not here," I said.  
  
"That is not my fault," Emma said.  
  
"No, it isn't," I agreed.  
  
"It probably seems like I over-discipline because you never discipline her. You're always at work."  
  
"I don't need your help."  
  
She paused. "I'll move out, then. I'll pack now, I'll be out by morning."  
  
"Fine with me," I said.  
  
/Little did I know I'd kick myself two days later . . ./ 


	3. Why !

(NOTE: The reason it took me this long to write a third part is because I don't think anyone read this... I don't have any reviews. Please, if you read this, just leave a review for me, whether it be good or bad. I'm having fun on this story and something actually happens in this part! This part is written in Birdie's point of view. Oh, and by the way, I'm a native- born American, and I really don't know anything about Canadian high schools, so... I've Americanized it. Slap if offended. Enjoy!)  
  
"She's really gone."  
  
"Yep," Papa said as Grandmother's taxi pulled out of the driveway.  
  
"Where is she going to go?"  
  
"Probably to your aunt's house."  
  
"But Aunt Isabela lives in America."  
  
"I know, darling." He sighed.  
  
"Who's going to take care of me while you're gone?" I asked.  
  
"I've been thinking about that," he said, smiling. He took me back into the house and we sat down on the couch. "You're sixteen now, almost an adult. So I am going to do something that Emma could never do.. I'm going to trust you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the house key.  
  
"By myself?" I cried out.  
  
"Well, why not? You're responsible, and mature. And like I said, /trust/ you."  
  
"Thanks," I said. I took the key from him. I was shaking, but I managed not to drop it.  
  
"Anyway.. I was thinking, why don't I cook us a special dinner tonight and then we'll go out to see a movie?"  
  
"Pizza in front of the TV it is," I said. We both burst into hyterical giggles.  
  
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We hadn't had pizza in a very long time. In fact, Grandmother almost never let us have pizza. Once, when she was visiting my Uncle Carlos and Aunt Elaina, Papa and I had pizza every morning for breakfast. Luckily, Grandmother was only gone for four days, because it could have gotten old very quick.  
  
Sliced tomato and black olive pizza was just what the doctor ordered. Accompanied by the chocolate sodas for dessert (my father's odd attempt to make those included a chocolate candy bar and a cherry coke), and the old movie "Rat Race", it was one of the best nights of my life. No one telling me how to dress (I got to wear a pair of blue jeans that I bought once and never got to wear, plus an old Starcademy shirt that my father accidentally stained up with bleach), or how to sit on the couch. I was comfortable in my own home. (And in case you were wondering, this is the house my mama and papa bought when they found out they were pregnant with me.) And afterward, Papa tucked me into bed, kissed me goodnight, and told me how much he loved me. He left the room, but then came back to remind me that I had band class tomorrow.  
  
This was the best night of my life. I could get used to this.  
  
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I almost slept through my alarm clock the next morning. I was so used to Grandmother pounding on my door (and the mark is still there) that I almost ignored the annoying buzzing sound.  
  
At first, I wondered why Papa didn't come banging on my door. Then I remembered it was Monday and he had to catch his shuttle. Once again, I couldn't go, but this time it was because I couldn't drive myself home. I could have caught a taxi, but Papa hates those things. "You never know who is going to drive it and heaven knows what goes on in those backseats."  
  
Going to school today was just going to suck. But I would make the most of it. I dressed in a light blue satin tee, and matching velvet pants. I wish I had high heels. I don't think I could even talk Papa into letting me wear those, so I just put on my regular boots.  
  
Jesse met me at my locker after third period as usual. He looked great today. His mother had allowed him to play with the color of his hair. His blond hair was now cut spikey and had green tips.  
  
"You look like a leprechaun," I said, chuckling.  
  
"Ha ha," Jesse said. "But you look adorable as always."  
  
"Thanks. I got to dress myself this morning."  
  
"Your grandmother died?!" he cried out suddenly. I must have given him a weird look because he just stopped. "I'm sorry. It just seems so weird. Why would she let you do that?"  
  
"She moved out. She moved to New York with my Aunt Isabela. She and Papa had a fight. She's gone."  
  
"After fifteen years of her living with you, taking over your life." He shook his head. "So where are you staying? Traylor's?"  
  
"No, here's the best part." I paused for dramatic purposes. "Papa's left me alone for the whole week. I've got the key."  
  
"And.. he won't be back until Friday..."  
  
"You want to come over?" I grinned. This could be a fun week...  
  
"Hey," he said, ruining the mood, "can you help me with my Calculus--"  
  
"Birdie Goddard, please report to the main office. You have a phone call. Birdie Goddard." The PA blared so loud you could probably hear it on Pluto.  
  
"Who's calling you?" Jesse asked.  
  
"I don't know," I replied honestly. "Maybe it's Grandmother."  
  
"Well, I'll see you later, okay?"  
  
"Later." We went our seperate ways.  
  
I marched into the office and introduced myself to the secretary. She pointed to the phone and instructed me to hit the flashing light.  
  
"Hi, this is Birdie Goddard...."  
  
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I met Jesse after school. He always walked me down to the bus stop. But today I didn't feel like riding the bus. A good, long walk would do me good. Then I would tired when I got home. I was hoping after I'd fallen asleep, I'd wake up and realize that the last two days have just been a dream.  
  
"Birdie.. are you all right?" Jesse cried out the moment he saw me.  
  
I tried to answer him, but the more I tried to say the words, the more the tears took over.  
  
"Tell me what I can do to help," Jesse said.  
  
It took a minute or two, but I finally managed to say those three little words:  
  
"My father's dead."  
  
Jesse stared at my pants. "How?" he finally managed to squeak out.  
  
"Apparently, someone saw an alien ship outside of the school," I said between sobs. "No one's sure what happened, but they think that my dad, along with the vice-principal and a few students, were kidnapped by those aliens. They've been gone for a few hours. Someone tried to communicate with that ship but they won't answer. They're waiting for a reply for ransom or something."  
  
"I'm so sorry," Jesse said.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks." I didn't really know what else to say. "Kidnapped."  
  
Jesse started talking, but I wasn't listening to anything except my own thoughts pounding in my head. "Kidnapped. Kidnapped. Kidnapped--"  
  
Suddenly, the pounding got to me. I turned around and punched a locker.  
  
"Birdie!" He interupted his own speech. "Your hand!"  
  
"Kidnapped," I whined again, not even noticing the bone sticking out of my wrist. "He's gone. My father is gone."  
  
"Birdie, we have to get you to the hospital. Now."  
  
"It doesn't matter." I suddenly felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of me. "Papa... Papa..."  
  
Jesse started screaming, but I couldn't hear him anymore. My father was dead... 


End file.
